She's the absynth on my lips (the splinter in my fingertips)
by ibuzoo
Summary: His eyes follow her lead and as soon as he spots the scarf dangling out of his pocket, bright red and golden in the morning light that breaks trough the huge windows of the great hall, he can't stop the cuss that leaves his lips.


**She's the absynth on my lips (the splinter in my fingertips)**

**Prompt: **Red

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence / Hermione is a year younger as Tom / they're both in Hogwarts at the same time

**Word count: **1686

**Summary: **Bella's eyes widen surprised, give him a certain look and she smirks - she fucking smirks - and he feels the anger boiling up again, so he spats, annoyed, „What?!"

It's almost innocent, the way her eyes glimmer with some sort of sadistic amusement, primeval really, nods towards his bag and her voice is a singsong, a honeyed poison, „Honey, you know that green clashes with red, yes? The last time someone wore red on green was twelve years ago at Vuitton's Fall presentation, and just so you know; it was a disaster."

His eyes follow her lead and as soon as he spots the scarf dangling out of his pocket, bright red and golden in the morning light that breaks trough the huge windows of the great hall, and he can't stop the cuss that leaves his lips.

**A/N: **I wanted to have Hermione being in control for a change - even if it was subliminal. Also, I have a sudden need for Hogwarts lip balms in their respective house colours, like Gryffindors could have strawberry and cherry flavours, Slytherins would have mint, Hufflepuff could have banana and lemon and Ravenclaw could have blackberry - you'll see why I think about this. Oh and the first line is kinda nicked from a poem I once read, if anyone should notice, I just reworded it a bit.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**o.**

She speaks to him in red, the colours the Russians loved so much they used it to make it their word for beautiful.

**i.**

Some days, he wonders if he would have preferred someone as easy to handle as Bellatrix.

**ii.**

Hermione Granger, he learns within his first month of these secret meetings designed to be a so-called relationship, is an only child from two muggle dentists and really, her muddy blood should keep him at least five meters away from her.

Hermione Granger, he learns over breakfast one morning, is a year younger than himself, a bossy girl that asks the right questions and gives the right answers with an intellect almost reaching his own.

Hermione Granger, he learns one night in one of Hogwarts deserted aisles, has the sweetest lips but the sharpest teeth when she scratches them over the thin layer on his neck while he pins her hands right beside her head, presses into her, urges, moans while she rips at his clothes, scrapes with fingertips over his nape.

Hermione Granger, he learns at the same night, doesn't want them to be seen together and leaves him standing in the cold, head held high, heels clacking on the stoney path.

_(he wonders if she knew from the start)_

**iii.**

It starts with a book, thin and leather with a dark red cover neatly wrapped around it, no dog ears, no smudges or stress marks, just plain and light-weighted.

It starts with a minute in the library, in between two bookshelves while the wood presses hard in his sacral region and her mouth is upon him, wet and sloppy, tongues dancing, fighting, teeth biting and he moans again, can't suppress it when she presses her belly and her breasts to his chest, fingers tugging at the little strains in his nape. Mrs Pince tears them apart with her shrilling voice, calls them insolent and impudent and Hermione laughs and laughs while she hurries away and leaves him behind - again.

He bundles his book together from a desk and heads straight on to potions, his temper boiling, how dare she abandon him, and he throws his books right beside Abraxas, the empty spot waiting for his arrival. He's dwelling on his thoughts, raging innerly, when Snape stops besides him, gives him a look out of judging eyes and nods towards the pile of books on his desks.

„Mr. Riddle, I presumed you'd be in your seventh year by now, not in your sixth?", is voice is loud enough for people to hear and Hufflepuffs are already sniggering behind their hands, staring with wide blown eyes when Snape picks the red leather under his dark textbook, lifts it up so the whole class can see and Tom's eyes widen, surprised. A quick glance of the teacher was enough to identify the book-owner and Tom could see how his lip curled slightly up, almost perversely, as if exposing Tom would profit the slick-haired creature, „I do hope you'll give Miss Granger her book by the end of the class, she needs it herself for the last period."

He didn't return the book until after her potions class; Snape didn't mention it.

_(she speaks to him in ruby that night, ruby ink on a blank parchment thanking him in the most obnoxious manner, calls him a thief, calls him a bastard, blaming him and he can't understand himself anymore, why he doesn't break it up, why he plays this game of want, desire and power, but when she creeps into his room at night, the question doesn't really need an answer anymore) _

**iv.**

They're hiding from prying eyes and gossipry of curious students, people who have nothing better to do as Tom likes to put it in words and her laughter fills his ears again, accompanied by her groans, her voice, his name over and over again when kisses the spot between her breasts, leaves wet trails and little marks on her cold flesh. She pushes him away soon enough and closes the buttons of her blouse with her fingers, grabs her bag and rushes out of the alleyway.

He's frustrated, almost embittered, curses darkly under his breath, pushes his hair back in place and grabs his back himself, shoulders the heavy leather and follows the path down to the great hall. His mind is racing with dozens of torture possibilities, some more or less painful, that he'll still need to test on her, when Bella's eyes widen surprised, give him a certain look and she smirks - she fucking smirks - and he feels the anger boiling up again, so he spats, annoyed, „What?!"

It's almost innocent, the way her eyes glimmer with some sort of sadistic amusement, primeval really, nods towards his bag and her voice is a singsong, a honeyed poison, „Honey, you know that green clashes with red, yes? The last time someone wore red on green was twelve years ago at Vuitton's Fall presentation, and just so you know; it was a disaster."

His eyes follow her lead and as soon as he spots the scarf dangling out of his pocket, bright red and golden in the morning light that breaks trough the huge windows of the great hall, and he can't stop the cuss that leaves his lips.

_(she speaks to him in scarlet that night, lovebites and marks on her thighs while she rears up against the bonds on her wrists, the scarfs one in red one in green, but she can't fight against them so he continues to feast on her skin)_

**v.**

It's kind of ridiculous how lip balm can betray him, almost preposterous and he clenches his fists, breathes deep in and out while his thoughts race about every possible way to wipe the grin off Abraxas sunny face, the little knowing delight behind these pale grey eyes. The small black box with the golden Hogwarts crest rests flat between them, almost innocently on the shelf of their shared bathroom and Abraxas opened the little without a second thought, assumed it'd be his - honestly which man uses lip balm at all? - and was met with a dark red creme, strawberry and cherries but no trace of green mint. He'd never been a fan of collectible merchandise or memorabilia at all, but how should he have known that such a little object could have a rather big effect on his professional relationships. Abraxas was still suppressing a laugh. Tom turned around and left.

_(she speaks to him in vermillion that night, lip balm smeared over her delicate lips and he bites at them, sucks, gnaws until his own mouth and teeth are smudged in red, moans into her hair when she bites at the pulse on his neck, licks and tastes strawberries, tastes cherries)_

**vi.**

His hands tangle in her hair right before the game - Quidditch against Slytherin obviously - and she wants to leave, hurries up but he keep her pinned beside the lockers, kisses her deep and wet and everything opens up, her hands rooming over his nape and hair. She urges him away a second later and reminds him that they need to go and support their teams, their friends and the word catches him off-guard, throws him back, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth but she's already pressing a drink in his hand and vanishes trough the door. He follows a second after, takes the steps up to the stand, presses his body past celebrating Slytherins, a sea of green and silver that cheers and shouts and sings when he finally reaches his place between Rabastan and Bellatrix. Rodolphus is already in the air beating the bludgers to the Gryffindors while Abraxas seeks trough the sky, searches for the little golden ball.

Dark glances drill in Tom's back and Rabastan snorts, shakes his head with his perfect gelled hair while Bellatrix laughs right beside him and he wonders what's the problem this time, what did he miss? He snarls, takes a sip of his drink and suddenly he understands because it's not coffee that fills his mouth - it's butterbeer and sure enough when he cast his eyes down he keeps a red mug in his hands, a giant golden lion-head sticking out on it.

He sighs deep, and drinks.

_(she speaks to him in cardinal that night, scrapes of fingers on his alabaster skin, red marks side by side spreading over his back, scratching, clawing trough the thin layer of flesh and he wonders if she writes her name down on his bones)_

**vii.**

He's running late, sprints trough Hogwarts aisles to reach Dumbledore's class and what happened to his perfection, what happened to his sophistication the last weeks? He slithers in the classroom just before the door closes, takes his seat beside Abraxas again and breathes deeply in and out to calm his respiration, steady his pulse. He's still composing himself when a shadow casts over him, covers him nearly whole and his eyes meet pale blue ones that flicker with amusement behind small glasses, a familiar face that drives disgust in his veins.

„If you want to change houses Tom we can talk about that later, but I'm afraid you need to stay in Slytherin," the voice drips of pleasure, sarcasm perhaps and Tom follows the old fool's eyes, stops at his tie and just forgets to breathe. Red and gold hang around his neck and for a second he's assured that Hermione switched them in his chambers. He wonders how much she'll scream when he twists her bones.

_(he speaks in crimson that night, bites down on every inch on her skin, leaves his script with scratches and marks, with bruises in dark red colours and his name like a plead on her lips)_

**viii.**

Some days, he wonders if he would have preferred someone as easy to handle as Bellatrix.

_(when her mouth burns holes in his skin, her hair a wild mess in his fingers and he tears, yanks, scratches with teeth over delicate flesh, he knows he wouldn't trade her for anyone else)_


End file.
